


Elfish Behavior

by BabalooBlue, Brighid45



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8856994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabalooBlue/pseuds/BabalooBlue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brighid45/pseuds/Brighid45
Summary: House/Wilson friendship, set just before Christmas. Just some seasonal fun, payback for slights real and imagined, and a wooden doll. Involves glitter, lots of caffeine and a man in tights.(Sequel to our previous holiday-themed story 'A Little List'. Some things may make a little more sense if you read that one first.) Some bad language.





	1. ‘You’re a mean one, Mister Grinch . . .’

Mondays by definition were never good days. But this one was even worse than normal.

It had started with the discovery that not only was there no coffee prepared when House got up - Wilson usually took care of that - but they were also out of the good grind they normally used. House had to resort to the tin of instant they kept at the back of the shelf for emergencies. It tasted even worse because he knew it was his own fault. When they went shopping on Friday Wilson had asked him to pick up a packet of the Ethiopian grind they both enjoyed, but House had been side-tracked by that stupid elf. In the ensuing chaos, the coffee had been forgotten.

House grabbed a Tastykake butterscotch krimpet, ripped open the package, and ate one of the cakes. Still munching, he sipped his coffee and hoped the cake would make it taste better. It didn’t work - if anything the brew was worse than if he’d just gulped it down.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and ate the other cake. He’d have to make it to the office on a minimum dose of caffeine then and hope that someone from his team had already started the coffee maker.

The drive across town was miserable. By the time he reached the PPTH parking lot, he’d flipped off three other drivers and nearly gotten involved in a fender bender with some idiot soccer mom in a white Escalade. His temper not improved in the least, he pulled into his parking spot and growled at the car when it knocked and coughed its way into shutting down. “Piece of junk,” he snapped and slammed the door twice before he stumped his way up the sidewalk.

Of course, the foyer was tarted up with holiday decorations. Cuddy had insisted on a big dreidel to go with the Christmas tree; they sat on opposite sides of the walk-in area. The sight of them aggravated House’s bad mood further, but he limped past them to the elevator banks and avoided the reception desk with its display. Pretty colored lights flashed from nearly every available surface, and saccharine music played over the PA system. House gritted his teeth and stepped into the elevator when the doors opened. The people inside moved away from him for some reason, which suited him just fine. He tapped his cane on the floor and wished the car would move faster. He just wanted to get this stupid day over with.

For a moment he considered stopping off at Wilson’s office to complain about the lack of quality caffeine at home, but he was drawn towards his own by the faint but unmistakeable smell of coffee.

Apparently, Chase had arrived early and started the coffee maker. House limped into his office, pointedly ignoring the younger man in the conference room, and began the process of getting settled behind his desk. 

As expected, coffee arrived in due course.

“Morning.” Chase put a mug in front of House, stepped back and crossed his arms. “Good weekend?”

House ignored the question, closed his eyes and took a sip. The supply in the office wasn’t great, but at least it was reliable.

Chase was still standing there when he opened his eyes again. And he had a grin on his face.

“What? You want a medal for pressing a button on a machine? Haven’t you got some work to do? I distinctly remember a stack of files with potential new cases. Go and find me something interesting!”

Chase shrugged and disappeared, still smiling. How anyone could be in a good mood on a Monday morning was beyond House.

He put on some music, leaned back and waited for the caffeine do its job.

By the time he felt able to face the world outside his office, Foreman had also arrived. Both he and Chase were bent over a small stack of files when House joined them.

Every now and then they’d read aloud from a file. In each case, it took between two and three symptoms before House shot them down. Since he had to be here and endure the holiday spirit rampant in this building, he needed something to get his teeth into, something to make the days until Christmas fly by - not something a six-year-old with a medical dictionary and a copy of _Gray’s Anatomy_ could solve.

“Hey, Foreman,” Chase suddenly said, “you send all your Christmas cards yet? I saw they’re now selling them downstairs at reception. Nice selection.”

House looked up just in time to see Foreman shrug. “I haven’t sent cards since I was in high school - and that was only because my mother made me write them as a punishment.”

Chase grinned. “Yeah, me either. But I’ll definitely write some this year. The cards I saw downstairs are really good. We should go check them out. _Seriously_.”

Foreman still wasn’t convinced and turned back to his file.

“You could get one for that cute radiologist…” Chase didn’t give up.

Time for an adult to intervene. “If Cuddy wants to branch out from selling medical services to stationery, that’s her decision. You’re here on my dime, so leave your calligraphy exercises until later.”

“Um, technically, we’re all here on Cuddy’s dime. Or rather, the taxpayer's and some stinking rich donors’.”

House shot Chase a look. “You just don’t know when to keep it zipped, do you?” He sharpened his gaze. Something was up; the blond one radiated suppressed glee. “Santa brought you a blow up doll this year, no doubt. That’s why you’re all giggly.”

Chase said nothing, but his dimples deepened just a bit. House narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t right here, but he didn’t have the time or inclination to do any digging, at least not at the moment. He’d wait a while, until everyone was off running errands. Then he’d poke around and get some information . . . House took another sip of coffee and frowned. It was fresh and hot, but otherwise bland and on the watery side. He missed Wilson’s coffee. Maybe, just maybe, Wilson had an extra stash of the Ethiopian blend in his office. And maybe he could be convinced to brew some of it, with a little arm-twisting. No time like the present. He got up and took his mug with him to the sink, dumped the lackluster brew down the drain, tipped the mug on its side just because he could, and headed for the door.

“Uh--still involved in a differential,” Chase said.

“You haven’t chosen a case yet,” Foreman pointed out.

“I’ll choose something when you give me a case worth my time,” House snapped. “Get busy!” He emerged into the corridor and limped over to Wilson’s office. “WilSON!” he bellowed, and pounded on the door. “I need coffee!”

“Busy right now, either brew your own or go to the cafeteria!” Wilson’s muffled voice sounded . . . cheerful. House frowned. The words didn’t match the tone, always a bad sign. He thumped the door again.

“Your coffee’s better! Lemme in!”

“I can’t buy better coffee anymore, we’ve been banned from the source. You might remember how that occurred.”

House groaned under his breath. “That dump can’t be the only place--”

“It is. I googled it.”

Silence followed. House bounced his cane on the floor a couple of times as he considered the problem at hand. “I suppose you think this is all my fault,” he said finally.

“You _don’t_?” Wilson’s voice held frank disbelief.

“No, I don’t! It was an accident!”

“Sorry, I’m busy. Talk to you later.”

“Wilson--” House hesitated. If he gave a little ground now, he’d gain it back and more besides later. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

“‘Maybe’?” Wilson made a derisive noise. “Try harder.”

“ _Shit_. Fine. I did it on purpose. But I had a reason!” House put a hand on the door. “Come on, let me in. I’ll tell you what happened.”

After a few moments the lock snicked. Wilson opened the door, but just enough to look at House. He took his time about it. House glared back and fought not to fidget. At last Wilson turned away. “Come in then,” he said. House followed him into the office. He stopped and sniffed the air.

“You didn’t make coffee.”

“I’ve got nothing to make it with. So I went to the cafeteria and picked up a latte.” Wilson sat at his desk and gestured at the tall go-cup perched next to a stack of what appeared to be holiday cards in bright red envelopes. “It’s not too bad, once you get past the first sip.”

“How can this be coffee if it doesn’t even smell like coffee in here?” He was not going to resort to cafeteria sludge, no way. “That stuff tastes like used motor oil, and I’m sure the caffeine content is actually negative.”

“Why do I not find it surprising that you know what used motor oil tastes like? Anyway, what you say could be true. Not my problem,” Wilson said in what House considered to be an unduly snotty tone. “I happen to know Chase brewed a fresh pot earlier. And if that isn’t good enough for you, try the kiosk by the gift shop.”

“That’s just cruel, forcing me to buy swill,” House snapped. He considered it though; he’d tried it before, and at least it had the virtue of being strong enough to keep him awake during clinic hours. Without further comment he left Wilson’s office. As he moved into the hallway he thought he heard a quiet chuckle, but didn’t bother to investigate. Wilson probably enjoyed this.

However, the reason for Wilson’s amusement became clear as House crossed the lobby to get to the coffee kiosk. A group of people barred his path and forced him to slow down. As he did so, he glanced at the display on the reception desk - and stopped, surprised to see a battered little Elf on the Shelf perched on the display he’d glimpsed earlier. The figure had its skinny, mangled arms around two stacks of cards with bright red envelopes. _That’s the elf I trashed in the store. And those are the same cards Wilson had in his office_ , House thought. A sense of apprehension swept over him. Slowly he came closer, reached out to take a card. The damn thing was coated with glitter except for a square in the middle, which held a photo. House’s eyes narrowed. He stared at the picture and felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he growled under his breath. When the hell had Wilson had the chance to take pictures of him on the scooter? And why hadn’t he noticed the ornament on the bumper? He lifted his gaze to the display and caught one of the receptionists smirking at him. He glared at her and pitched the card at the Elf, who promptly fell over and scattered cards everywhere. “Fucker,” House growled, and limped off to the kiosk, his mind in turmoil.

While he was waiting for his coffee, he realized that these were the cards Chase had been hinting at earlier. Half the hospital had seen them at this point, he was sure. And now of course everyone would know he knew, the hospital grapevine would see to that. That meant his revenge would have to be both swift and comprehensive.

He made a stop on the third floor, to check out the unisex bathroom by the geriatric wing. It was usually deserted at this hour, and true to form, it was empty when he entered. He pulled out his phone, did a quick google search, and made a call.


	2. 'Baby, It's Cold Outside'

 

Ten minutes later House sauntered into Wilson’s office, claimed the most comfortable visitor’s chair, and settled in. He slurped his coffee and gave Wilson a challenging stare. “Just used my phone,” he said. Wilson paused as he reached for a file.

“Nice of you to prove you’re semi-human and know how to use everyday objects.” 

“I called that frou-frou place we trashed.” 

“ _You_ trashed,” Wilson said. House waved a hand at him. 

“Don’t nit-pick. The owner says she’ll let you shop there again.” 

Wilson’s eyes widened. “She--she did?” He frowned. “Why?” 

“I could lie and say she offered out of the kindness of her heart, but we both know that would never happen, since she’s an alien in disguise.” House sat back and took a sip of coffee. “Apparently there’s an Elf missing. A handmade Elf, by all accounts.” 

“H-handmade? _What_?” Now Wilson looked utterly baffled. “That thing wasn’t handmade, she’s bullshitting you.” 

“Some family member made it specially for the store,” House said, enjoying the flash of fear in Wilson’s eyes. “The guy who made it is the Geppetto of elf dolls or something. Anyway, if you ever want to thump organic melons in that all-natural dive again, you have to agree to play the Elf for an afternoon.” 

It took a few moments for comprehension to hit. Then Wilson’s brows lowered. “I am _not_ playing an elf.” 

“You were born for it,” House said. “Those dimply cheeks and big brown eyes . . .” 

“Oh, shut up! The answer is NO. As in N-O, _no_!” He glared at House. “If anyone should be doing this it’s you!” 

“Jimmy . . .” House shook his head. “You’d really want to send me out among unsuspecting children.” 

Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Dammit.” He picked up his pen, set it down again. “She really wants me to do this?” 

“Two hours on Christmas Eve afternoon, and everything’s forgiven.” It was four hours, but he’d let Wilson find that out for himself. 

Wilson sat back. “And she actually told you this.” He leveled a suspicious stare at House. “This isn’t some practical joke to get me arrested or something, is it?” 

“As if I’d tell you. No, it isn’t,” House said hastily as Wilson’s brows went up this time. “Come on, it’s a chance to get one of your favorite stores back. You know you like that coffee as much as I do.” 

“While that may be true, all I see is me doing the heavy lifting and you getting the benefits.” Wilson folded his arms. “What are you willing to do to drink decent joe?” 

House was prepared for this. “I’ll . . . I’ll drive you there and back.” 

“Pfft. That’s expected.” Wilson tapped a finger on his arm. “What else?” 

“Well . . .” House did his best to appear lost in thought. “Hey, I know! I can take over one of your lecture dates. You’ve got one coming up in February.” 

“And conveniently forget all about it by mid-January.” Wilson shook his head. “Try again.” 

“Dammit,” House grumbled. He fidgeted and went over his secret negotiation list once more. “I’ll buy lunch for a week.” 

“I’ve been buying double lunches since you started working here. And you know I’ll be on a diet after January first anyway.” Wilson looked down his nose at House. “Keep going. I’ll let you know when I hear something worth my time.”

“You know, you’re just giving credence to that stereotype about Jews and their money.” It was a cheap shot, but it might work. One corner of Wilson’s mouth turned up. 

“Nice try. What else do you have to offer?” 

House groaned silently. “Since when did you become such a hardass?” 

“I learned from the best. If there’s one upside to hanging around you, it’s watching a master manipulator work on everyone around him.” Wilson’s half-smile grew a bit. “Come on, you know what’s left.” 

“I’m not gonna scrub your toilet.” 

“You will if I say so. But that’s not what I really want.” Wilson flapped a hand at him. “Proceed.” 

“ _Shit_.” House sighed. “Clinic hours. I’ll do four of yours.” 

“You’ll do a month’s worth.” 

Even allowing for haggling, that was a shock. “What?! No _way!_ ” 

“Oh yes way. And you’ll do them starting tomorrow. Not February or May or fifty years from now, but tomorrow.” Wilson leaned forward. “Tomorrow, and every working day for a full month, or no deal. End of discussion.” 

“I’ll do two weeks. Starting January 1st.” House had no intention of doing any. He just had to play along until Wilson was satisfied. 

“You’ll do four, and here’s why.” Wilson opened a drawer and drew out a card. House recognized it as one of the photo cards he’d seen at the reception desk. “Take a good look.” He offered it. House reached out and grabbed it from Wilson’s hand, pretended to examine it. So, this was the blackmail . . . not too shabby, but not good enough. After a moment he tossed it on the desk. 

“So much for being a friend,” he said, and put an edge of bitterness in his tone. Wilson winced. It was well hidden, but House knew his tells by now. With inward glee he continued. “So that’s my choice--kiss your ass or be humiliated. Just peachy.” 

“You--you brought it on yourself!” Wilson glared at him. “I’m the one who has to wear the stupid hat, I’d say that’s a bigger humiliation than the one you’re dealing with!” 

“Hey, you’ll just ruin the lives of a few kids. Everyone at PPTH will remember that card. Some of them might even frame it and hang it in their offices--” 

“Yeah, fine, fine, I get it! Everything’s a damn competition with you!” Wilson had begun to blush, House noted with amusement. “Three weeks.” 

“One.” House lifted a brow. “Final offer.” 

“Two. Final offer.” 

House appeared to consider it. Finally he sighed loudly. “Goddammit. Two, then.” 

“Starting tomorrow.” Wilson’s voice held a warning note. “Don’t lie to me. Either you’re in that clinic tomorrow, or the deal’s off and you can drink hospital slurry for the rest of your days.” 

House tapped his cane and pretended to consider the deal once more. “Okay. Deal. You got your pound of flesh, happy now?” 

“Actually it’s a pound of coffee, but who cares.” Wilson offered a smirk. 

“Great. You can pick up your costume at the store on your way home tonight.” House got to his feet. Wilson’s smile faltered. 

“Costume? Wait--I--I thought it was just a hat or something . . .” 

“Nope. The store owner wants the whole enchilada. Tights, shirt, hat and little pointy shoes.” 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Wilson groaned. “No coffee is worth this.” 

“Cheer up, Wilson. Think of the children.” And with that House made his exit. 

The next day, House realized he wouldn’t get away with clocking in for clinic duty and then skiving off. An email from Wilson made sure of that. 

“ _Just in case you think you can sign in and head off to the OB/GYN lounge, I have someone keeping an eye on how much actual work you do. It would be in your best interests to stay in an exam room and see patients, or the deal’s off._ ” 

Of course, Wilson was too smart to mention who exactly he had bribed to watch House, so he had no choice than to do some actual work. If you could call writing scripts for anti-histamines and flu meds work. He’d also dealt with more university students than he’d seen since he left med school, and every single one had a rambling story about how they’d acquired some kind of infection or STD. There was one bright spot in the proceedings, however: he’d gained a case from some poor soul who came in with the worst foot rot he’d seen in years. It was clear something else was going on with the patient - a problem far more serious than athlete’s foot and thickened toenails. 

House emerged from the exam room after what felt like four days, tired, in pain, hungry and thirsty. Forget coffee, he wanted beer and plenty of it, preferably in his comfortable chair at home, with pizza and the tv remote close at hand. He headed for the nurses station to sign out, only to have his phone signal an incoming text. It was from Wilson. 

 

 _you still owe ½ hr sign out now deals off_  

 

“The _fuck_ you say,” House muttered under his breath. So the spy had informed on him. He took a quick, casual glance around the area, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. In fact the station was deserted, odd for this time of day . . . He moved back to the exam room, closed the door nearly shut, and waited. Five minutes later, two nurses returned to the station. House observed them both, but couldn’t see any obvious tells on either one. Time to step things up a bit. He opened the door and limped to the station. “Excuse me!” he said loudly. The first nurse sent him a withering stare; the second ignored him completely. _Busted_ , he thought, and resisted the urge to smile. “Need patients to get in my last half hour of work!” 

“You should be signed out by now,” the first nurse said tersely. The second nurse said nothing, not so much as a flinch or a flicker of a glance, but she cringed all the same. 

“Apparently not.” House leaned in a bit. “Isn’t that so, Henderson? You ratted me out to Doctor Wilson. Just so you know, he’s a terrible lay after the first night.” He winked at her. She did look at him finally, just a quick glance. He added a leer, one brow raised, little smirk. She returned her gaze to her monitor, a hint of blush in her cheeks now. She could deny it all she liked, it had to be her. House straightened. “Gimme a damn chart,” he growled, and snatched the file out of the first nurse’s hand when she offered one to him. 

Exactly thirty minutes later, House returned to the station, located the log book, signed his name with a flourish, added the time, and said loudly “Just so everyone knows, I put in four full hours of clinic time. Four hours. That’s two hundred forty minutes of pure tedium, noted in the log. Got it? Four. Full. Fucking. Hours. I am now leaving this pit of hell, and wish I could say I’ll never return. But there’s always tomorrow.” 

“Thanks for the warning,” the charge nurse said wearily. House saluted her and limped off to the entrance. Now he would make double sure that Wilson served every last minute of his time as an Elf tomorrow. And just to ensure that those hours weren’t too comfortable, he texted Wilson on his way out. 

 

_Picking up take-out and your costume on the way home. You want extra pepperoni?_

 

When the store owner, all smiles, handed House the bag with Wilson’s costume for tomorrow he offered a smile in return--after all, she expected it, and one smile during the holidays was a small return for the enjoyment he’d get out of this whole setup. Later that evening he’d shorten the elastic waistband and put in an alteration of the crotch gusset, all chores he’d learned to do with his own clothes since his surgery. Every now and then, being a cripple came in handy. 

Dinner was on Wilson’s card - obviously. 

Alterations done, House returned the costume bag to the car, just on the off-chance that Wilson wanted to try the clothes on before his big day. He hummed ‘Men In Tights’ under his breath as he headed back to the apartment where his dinner and well-deserved beer were waiting, ready for a well-deserved evening in front of the tv.

  
Soon enough he was settled in, food and alcohol at hand and a documentary on PBS. He didn’t even know what it was about, but it was far better than the endless holiday shows and specials on every other channel. Slowly he drifted off into a pleasant doze, his belly full and pain levels reduced to a decent number. When he woke some time later, it was to a quiet room. The tv volume had been turned down, and several slices of pizza and a couple of beers were missing. So, Wilson had returned but decided not to wake him. Interesting. House grunted, heaved his tired body off the couch, and limped off to the bedroom. Tomorrow would come all too soon; a few hours of sleep would be helpful in getting through the seasonal madness.


	3. ‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . .’

The following afternoon, traffic was crazy. How could it be any different, it was Christmas Eve after all. House sighed and tapped along with whatever was playing on the radio. 

“We’re gonna be late.” Wilson sounded worried. “Can you not go a bit faster?” 

“How do you expect me to do that,” House pointed at the traffic which had come to a standstill. “We don’t own a hovercraft.” 

Wilson said nothing. 

“What did you tell Cuddy anyway? I guess you signed out like a good little boy and told Mommy where you were headed?” 

“Of course not. Are you crazed? I lied like a rug.” Wilson sighed. “I told her I had an unofficial consult with someone.” He paused at House’s leer. “No, not like that! ‘Unofficial’ doesn’t always mean ‘meet me in the Extended Care suite where there’s an empty room and clean sheets’. Anyway, she owes me some time off. Unlike some, I do my clinic hours on time--” 

“Suck up,” House muttered. 

“--and I do a few extra to use as bargaining chips. So I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off, no questions asked.” 

“You work in a teaching hospital with one of the most efficient grapevines ever set up, and you still believe in ‘no questions asked’,” House said, amused. “Well, more power to you.” 

“Hey, I know people gossip. But in this case, there’s nothing to gossip about. They can speculate all they want, but after a couple of days it’ll die down and that’s that.” Wilson peered out at the street. “Looks like the gridlock is easing up finally.” 

It took some doing, but eventually they got to the shopping center. “Just drop me off here and grab a disabled parking spot,” Wilson said, as they waited in line to get to the storefront. 

“No can do.” House sounded almost cheerful. “I have a date with a cold beer and some racing forms.” 

“WHAT?!” Wilson turned to glare at House. “You--you--you can’t just dump me here! Dammit House!” 

“Don’t forget your costume,” House sang, and offered a sunny smile. “You’ll have a better time going solo anyway. Do you _really_ want me around all those innocent little tykes?” 

Wilson’s glare intensified. “You fucking _bastard_.” 

“Yes, true,” House said, unruffled. “I got you a bottle of water, by the way. You don’t want to get too dry.” 

“Yeah, thanks _ever_ so much.” Wilson reached in the back, grabbed the bag with the costume, and popped the door open. “I hope you lose all your money!” He slammed the door and stalked off. House rolled down his window. 

“HEY! You forgot your water!” 

Wilson gave him the finger. House snorted with laughter and put the car in drive, then pulled out of the line and headed for the track. 

House’s afternoon turned out to be quite enjoyable. Better than Wilson’s, that much was certain. It was almost a pity he had to cut it short. _Quit while you’re ahead_ , he thought as he collected his last win. He didn’t want to miss the end of Wilson’s performance of a lifetime, and traffic would be bad going back. 

He made good time on the freeway, so it was sooner rather than later when House pulled into the parking lot, on his way to a spot near the store, only to find every available space filled. A line of people stood at the entrance, mostly mothers with children in tow. It looked crowded and chaotic. House smiled a little and decided to circle the lot once more. Even if he had to walk a bit further, it would be worth it. 

Eventually, he found a space along the side of the building, in the fire lane. There were other cars parked there too, so safety in numbers would probably apply for a while; the cops were too busy with other matters to bother with issuing tickets at a small shopping center. 

By the time House had reached the store, Wilson should’ve been almost done. But the line of moms and kids was still quite impressive, and the store owner didn’t look like she would tell people to leave. On the contrary, she smiled broadly when House entered. Business was going well, apparently. 

“Doctor House!” The owner hurried over, beaming. “What a shame you couldn’t be here, you missed a wonderful afternoon!” 

 _I just bet I did_ , House thought. Aloud he said, “So this was a success.” 

“Oh, more than a success! A smash hit! Once the moms who came in first started texting their friends and posting photos on Facebook and Twitter, the crowds really showed up!” House could practically see the dollar signs in the woman’s eyes. “This has to be the best business day we’ve had since we opened!” 

“Delighted to hear it.” House offered a slight smile. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do a bit of browsing.” 

“Feel free.” The owner waved a hand at the aisles. “That’s if you can get through, it’s pretty crowded.” 

Giving the scooter a wide berth, House grabbed a basket and headed straight for the coffee section of course. A walletful of track winnings would be sensibly invested in every single bag of Ethiopian blend on the shelf. No point in taking chances this time. Anyway, he’d get the money out of Wilson somehow, later on. One or two guilt trips, used judiciously, should recoup his expenses. 

He ended up with eight bags, fragrant and satisfyingly heavy; for once he didn’t mind lugging groceries around. Slowly he moved from the center aisle to the produce area by the far wall, careful to keep as many mothers and kids between him and the back of the store as possible. He still towered over the crowd for the most part, but he’d mastered the fine art of skulking at an early age, and that skill stood him in good stead now. After some careful maneuvering, he found a vantage point from which to observe Wilson and take some candid photos of the Elf in action. 

Wilson was surrounded by toddlers. There were ominous stains on his shirt, and his hat was no longer perky; he looked exhausted and ready to drop. House almost felt sorry for him. But the man _was_ a pediatric oncologist, after all. He was probably used to puddles of bodily fluids. 

As House watched, the next mother in line dragged her child forward and pushed him toward Wilson. “Stand next to the Elf, Tommy! Mom will take a picture of the two of you.” Tommy stayed where he was. He looked up at Wilson, who stared back for a moment and tugged at his waistband before he remembered to smile. 

“Come on over, uh . . . Tommy,” he said. The little boy shook his head. His mother put a hand in the child’s back and shoved. The child began to cry. Wilson slowly crouched down, and winced as he did so. “Hey, Tommy, it’s okay. Let’s take a picture together, how’s that sound?” Tommy eyed Wilson with suspicion, but quieted and shuffled toward him. Wilson offered an encouraging nod and put his arm behind the boy as the mother got out her phone. Just as the flash went off, Tommy sneezed. A thick ribbon of snot flew out of his nose and onto Wilson’s shirt. Wilson flinched but to his credit, didn’t move. The mom lowered her phone, reached out and grabbed the boy. 

“Sorry,” she said, and took off. Wilson looked down at his shirt in a resigned sort of way. After a moment he reached behind him and took a wet-wipe from a canister, carefully cleaned up the mess, and tossed the wipe in a trash can. The can was more than half full, House noted. Wilson straightened, then made a show of glancing at his watch. 

“Well everyone, the Elf hates to say this, but he’s half an hour late for his shift at Santa’s workshop. It’s a busy time of year, you know. Lots of toys and games to get finished up for the big night.” Wilson sent a glance toward the store owner, who gave a reluctant nod. “Time for me to get back to the North Pole.” 

Slowly the crowds began to disperse, not without some complaints and grumbling, but they eventually thinned out. House picked up his basket and limped toward Wilson, who was still pinned in the corner by several mothers who seemed determined to get him to agree to attend a holiday party. House was amused, but he also knew where to draw the line, at least in certain circumstances. 

“He doesn’t do parties,” he announced loudly. “It gets in the way of his main gig at the strip club downtown.” 

The look on Wilson’s face was priceless. It was clear he didn’t know whether to be grateful, or land a punch right in House’s face. But the pronouncement had the desired effect. Within fifteen minutes the place was more or less cleared of mothers and offspring. 

Wilson didn't say a word until they were almost home, which was when House decided to break the silence. 

"Hey, I got our coffee. I bought all their stock." 

Wilson glared at him. "Two hours, you said. _Two_!" 

"So it overran a little." 

“Over _ran_? You knew perfectly well this would take all afternoon, you just didn’t tell me. You owe me a century’s worth of clinic hours for this.” 

“No chance, Wilson, deal’s a deal. I kept up my end of the bargain.” 

“Fuck you, House!”

“My, my.” House couldn’t suppress a grin. “Those tights make you a little frisky, Wilson?” 

Wilson slowly shook his head and then said, “I’ll make you pay for this.” 

House was sure that he would. But he’d deal with that when the time came. For now, he had the evening off, there were several bags of excellent coffee in the back which he’d paid for with his winnings, and there were at least three good photos on his phone which were suitable blackmail material.


	4. ’While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night’

House’s dream of an evening off in the front of the TV evaporated just as he walked in the front door. The phone indicated that Foreman was the culprit.

“Your Momma never tell you it’s rude to disturb people on Christmas Eve?” House answered.

“My mother taught me it’s rude to let people die on Christmas Eve. Besides, you don’t even celebrate Christmas. House, you need to come in. The treatment isn’t working.”

He really didn’t want to go in but if they could fix this tonight then he’d be guaranteed a couple of days off. Whereas, if he ignored Foreman now, he’d probably be called out in the early hours of Christmas morning. He doubted the patient was really dying but if he didn’t sort this out now, he might be by tomorrow morning.

He sighed.

“On my way. And you better have all the labs for me when I get there.”

He hated leaving Wilson to his own devices - he’d have to forego teasing him a bit more about his turn as an elf until tomorrow.

Foreman waited for him in the office. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and a number of dirty mugs on the counter bore mute testimony to the length of the other man’s stay.

“Here’s the latest.” Foreman tossed the chart to House, who fielded it neatly and scanned the contents. “Something else is going on besides the athlete’s foot.”

“ _Duh_.” House flipped a page, then another, and frowned. “Tingling and burning sensation in both hands? When did this come up?”

“About an hour ago. I mean him telling us that.” Foreman passed a hand over his face. “Apparently it’s been going on for some time, but now his hands don’t hurt anymore. They’re--”

“Numb.” House checked vital stats once more, then dropped the chart on the table. “Go back, do an LP and while you do that, talk to this moron about any other symptoms he decided to omit. They’ll probably confirm it’s CIDP, but let’s make sure before we start the celebrations.”

“You get CIDP out of athlete’s foot?” Foreman sounded incredulous.

“No, he developed the disease and then had himself some strange shower action somewhere, and contracted foot rot,” House snapped. “The fungus among us masked the main problem. You’ve been here long enough to know that happens, you should have dug deeper!” He flapped a hand at the door. “Beat it. Bring back good news. I want out of this dump tonight.”

“House, no tech is gonna want to process that test over Christmas!” Foreman glared at him. “We can’t leave spinal fluid sitting around for forty-eight hours!”

“Then you get to play lab tech. Call Chase and tell him to bring his Christmas pudding with him, you’ll both be here a while.” House pulled a magazine from his backpack and then settled into the Eames chair. “On your way, token person-of-color elf. You have work to do.”

Half an hour later, Foreman returned. He looked both satisfied and annoyed. “LP’s set up as soon as Chase gets here. And the patient says his feet have bothered him for a while now, before the symptoms of the fungal infection showed up.”

House nodded. “He didn’t think his burning feet were a problem, but when his hands started to show the same symptoms he decided to turn the diagnosing over to someone in a lab coat with a diploma in his office. Someone like you.” He gave Foreman a quick glare. “See how well that worked out.”

Foreman muttered something under his breath as the office door was pulled open. Chase entered, a jacket thrown on over rumpled clothes.

“Where’s the pudding? And what’s her name?” House lifted his brows in a leer. Chase glared at him.

“Foreman said something about a lumbar puncture.”

“For the patient, not the dark one. Go forth and poke a hole in the patient. And not the kind you’re thinking of.” House got to his feet. “Do NOT call me unless you want your family to remember your death on a major holiday.” He took his pea coat from the back of the chair and put it on.

“We’re gonna have questions,” Chase pointed out.

“I’m not staying here to wipe your respective asses and change your diapers. You’ve got enough to go on.” He unhooked his cane from the top shelf of the bookcase. “Earn your damn pay and don’t pester me until I walk in at noon on Boxing Day.” He limped to the door and paused. “There’d better be fresh doughnuts on the table the next time I’m in here, or you’ll both do my clinic hours for the next month.”

“We probably will anyway,” Foreman said wearily. “Why should we bother?”

“It’s a gesture of sympathy and commiseration for the humiliation I’ve endured lately.” House opened the door. “Don’t forget. I won’t.”

He couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Thankfully, the hospital corridors were almost deserted at this hour, only the most desperate and unlucky had nowhere else to go on a night like this.

The elevator took ages to get to the ground floor, or so it seemed. House impatiently bounced his cane. There was a full fridge, well stocked with food and booze, a relatively comfy recliner and a tv waiting at home. And a grumpy elf.

The reception desk was as vacant as the upstairs corridors. Wilson’s wooden counterpart was sitting all alone next to a sorry stack of leftover glitter cards. House made sure no random passer-by was looking and dumped the remaining cards into the nearest trash can.

Problem solved.

“What are you smirking at,” he snapped at the elf. Of course, there was no reply. House headed toward the exit, then stopped. When he turned back, he had a grin for the security cameras he knew were recording every movement in the lobby.

House wasn’t sure whether the cameras also recorded sound, but just in case he made a big show of putting his backpack onto the reception desk and then said to the elf, “Can’t have you sitting here all on your lonesome over the holidays. I know a much better place with booze and porn galore.”

  
He stuffed the elf into the bag and then, for good measure, grabbed the small Christmas tree from behind the counter and tucked it under his right arm. He limped across the floor to the lobby doors and paused before he went out. With a flourish he saluted the spot where he presumed the cameras were posted, an exaggerated salaam; then he turned once more and went out into the winter night, head held high.


	5. Epilogue - 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen...'

The loft was quiet when House unlocked the door; only the sound of the television could be heard. He came inside, shut the door and advanced with caution. Who knew what Wilson had cooked up as revenge in the meantime.

Slowly he moved to the living room, paused in the doorway, and stuck his head in just a bit. The area was dark except for the flicker of the tv screen. After a moment House could see a limp body settled deep in one of the recliners, its pale face given an unearthly glow by the tv light. House squinted as he looked around the room for potential booby traps, but everything seemed much as usual.

Wilson would get his revenge, but it wouldn’t happen tonight, that much was certain. House came a little closer, then deliberately dropped his backpack. It hit the floor with a muffled thud. Wilson didn’t move. House waited, but nothing happened. He moved forward again, leaned down and opened the backpack to take out the elf. He gently tucked the doll into the crook of Wilson’s arm. The tree was placed on the end table next to the couch, well within Wilson’s line of sight.

As he straightened, House saw the shabby old afghan draped over the back of the other recliner--a gift from some relative or other no doubt, he couldn’t remember if it was his or Wilson’s. It was easy enough to drag it free and drape it over Wilson and the elf. He tucked it in with the lightest of touches (no point in waking up the sleeper), then limped over to the other recliner. Slowly he settled in and took out his phone and hit speed dial.

“This is Doctor Wilson. Send over a number seventeen and a double order of twenty-two with extra pancakes.” He rattled off Wilson’s credit card number, gave the address and hung up. Wilson could always reheat his if he didn’t wake up before the delivery guy arrived.

House turned his attention to the tv and found some old black and white movie playing. It looked boring. He reached out, eased the remote from Wilson’s limp hand, and checked the program schedule. _Back Street_ . . . it figured the idiot would go for some three-hanky weepfest. “Fuck that,” he muttered, and changed to the sports package channels. There had to be something on tonight, even if it was cricket.

He was about to drop his phone on the coffee table when a little snore caught his attention. Wilson had slid down in the chair, and now his cheek rested against the top of the doll’s head. As House watched, Wilson shifted slightly, smacked his lips and snuggled under the afghan. A slight smile turned up the corners of House’s mouth. He raised his phone, waited for focus, and took a series of photos. A dozen shots later, he tucked his phone into his backpack and relaxed into the comfortable chair. All in all, despite his words to Foreman and Chase, it had been a decent day. He’d successfully pranked his best friend, won a nice wad of cash at the track, and pushed a sizeable workload off on his team. He was stocked with coffee for the foreseeable future and food was on the way. Even his leg wasn’t screaming at him for once. Right here, right now, life was good. House exhaled a slow breath and glanced over at the sleeping figure next to him.

“Merry Christmas, Wilson,” he said softly.

 

== THE END ==


End file.
